


Kisses at Midnight

by sneetchstar



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Guinevere does a little matchmaking on New Year's Eve. Post-season 5 period AU in which Arthur and Gwaine are both alive (as they are in my head canon).  Originally posted on ff.net for New Year's 2014.





	1. Chapter 1

"Arthur, we should…" Guinevere pauses as her husband kisses her yet _again,_ attempting to distract her, "get up." She pulls her lips from his, reluctantly but with resolve. "We have guests arriving and I have a feast to oversee."

"Ugh," King Arthur of Camelot groans, dropping his head onto her shoulder. "Must we?"

"Yes," she answers, shoving his shoulder ineffectively. He turns his head and begins kissing her neck. " _Arthur…_ "

"I know, I know," he murmurs, his lips never leaving the soft, warm skin of her neck. _I would live right here if I could._

"Why so grumpy, my love? Normally, you enjoy hosting visitors. Gives you a chance to show off, preen and puff about how your legalization of magic has gone wonderfully well, brag about how Camelot has never prospered so," she asks, threading her fingers through his hair.

"I know," he sighs, resting his head on her chest, smoothing his hand over her rounded belly, six months swollen with their first child. "I have something else about which to boast as well," he adds, turning to kiss her collar bone.

"True," she agrees, smiling. "But, none of that will happen if you keep your royal backside in bed all day." She pauses. "Do not make me call Merlin."

Arthur stiffens. "He's not my servant anymore," he tries.

"You don't have a new one yet, and you told him to keep up with some of his duties until he secures a suitable replacement," Gwen reminds him. "Plus, that's a very poor excuse. You don't want me to call him because you don't want to be levitated out of bed. Again."

"Well, that was both humiliating and horrifying!" he blusters, finally sitting up.

"You were the one who goaded him, wagering that he couldn't do it," she reminds him, slipping out of bed before he can pull her back in.

"No, I said he _wouldn't_ do it. There's a big difference."

"Be that as it may; you were wrong. Now, get. Up."

He groans, but complies. "It's Olaf and Vivian who trouble me," Arthur admits from behind a privacy screen, emptying his bladder.

"Do you think Vivian is still enchanted? It's been… at least six years," Guinevere says, sitting at her vanity, unwinding her hair from its braid.

Arthur emerges, frowning. "If she is, I would think Olaf wouldn't bring her," he says, stepping over to her. He reaches down and replaces her hands with his, undoing her braid and running his fingers through her curls.

"Unless he thinks seeing you happily married and about to become a father will snap her out of it," Guinevere says as Arthur bends down to kiss her temple. "Perhaps Merlin can do something for her."

"Merlin said she needs to be kissed by someone she loves. Like you did for me," Arthur says, smiling at the memory. _That was a_ good _kiss._

"Yes, that's correct…" Guinevere answers thoughtfully, standing. She kisses Arthur once before walking to the door to call for her maid. "I have an idea," she declares, turning back to him.

Arthur quirks his head at her, curious.

"Mithian, Vivian, and Elena are all yet unmarried," she starts. "We have three fine knights as yet unmarried…"

"No."

"Hear me out," she presses, winding her arms up around his neck.

His hands find her hips and he raises an eyebrow at her, skeptical, but listening.

"I'm thinking… each party should be greeted by one of these fine knights. Personal envoy, that kind of thing."

"Guinevere, I can't ask my top knights to…"

" _You_ may not be able to," Guinevere says, stopping his words with a finger on his lips, "but _I_ can."

"Guinevere…"

"Trust me, Love," she says.

He kisses her finger and smiles. "You know I always do." Her maid knocks on the door, and Arthur exits as she enters, clearly amused by his wife's wishes for the happiness of others.

xXx

"You want us to do _what?_ " Sir Gwaine asks, not sure he's heard his queen correctly. Or perhaps she is having a jest. _It sounded like she wants us to be… tour guides._

"I would like each of you to act as a personal envoy to our visitors today," Guinevere repeats. "Normally, I would greet and entertain them, but I am going to be far too busy overseeing final preparations for the feast."

"In addition, Gaius has advised you not to spend too much time on your feet, my lady," Leon points out. "You do need your rest."

 _Suck up,_ Gwaine scowls. Secretly, he's jealous of Leon's close relationship with the queen, even though he knows it is nothing more than a friendship dating back to childhood. Secretly, he's still nursing his wounded pride over her rejecting him all those years ago.

"Thank you, Sir Leon," Gwen smiles at him. "Now, King Rodor and Princess Mithian should be arriving first. Leon, please greet them in the courtyard."

She thinks she sees Leon's eyes light up when Mithian's name is mentioned, but it is so fleeting, she isn't certain.

"Next should be King Olaf and Princess Vivian. Sir Gwaine, if anyone can charm the cantankerous Olaf and his… exuberant daughter, it is you." Gwen smiles and reaches over to pat his hand where it is resting on the hilt of his sword. As expected, he grasps her hand and lifts it to his lips.

"Only for you, my queen," he purrs.

"Still trying," she says mildly, gently extracting her hand from his to pat his cheek before turning to Percival.

"I will host King Godwin and Princess Elena, my lady," Percival says before she can give the order. He nods respectfully, but fondly, a small smile on his boyish but handsome face.

"Thank you, Sir Percival." She touches his arm, always amazed at the sheer size of this man. _His arm is thicker than my leg._

"Do take care to have some servants along with you to attend our guests and carry any baggage they may have. Lord Merlin can tell you which rooms they will be using."

"Yes, my lady," they chorus, nodding.

"All right; off with you," she says, smiling fondly at her three favorite knights. After Arthur, of course.

"Gwen, a word?" Leon stays put while the other two exit, chatting and playfully roughhousing as they go. Out of respect for his queen, he only uses her given name on the rare occasions they are alone or in the presence of only Arthur or Merlin.

Guinevere stands in front of Leon, looking up at him, waiting.

"Yes, Leon?"

"Are you certain about Gwaine greeting Olaf and Vivian? I mean, Gwaine is an excellent knight, but, he's, well, _Gwaine._ "

"Are you volunteering to trade with him?" Gwen asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No! I mean, no. But Olaf is so… strict. And Vivian is… _is_ she still enchanted?"

"I'm not certain, but if she still believes she is in love with my husband, Gwaine is the best candidate to break the enchantment. He could charm the bees out of their honey."

"His charms didn't work on you," Leon points out.

"Only because I had already found my true love, which made me immune. Vivian's love for Arthur is false." She casually loops her hand into the crook of his elbow and they begin walking back to the palace from the training grounds where she had found the knights.

"Indeed," Leon agrees, nodding. A moment later, an uncharacteristically mischievous grin crosses his face. "This is going to be entertaining."

Gwen giggles softly. "Yes. And, Leon?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"You may want to consider taking a quick bath, since you've been training."

"Yes, my lady," he nods, flushing slightly. _Does she know I've admired Princess Mithian since the first time she visited Camelot?_

He escorts her back to the royal chambers so she can rest for a short time.

"Thank you, Sir Knight," Gwen smiles at him. "By the way, Princess Mithian likes the scent of cinnamon." With that, she disappears into the rooms she shares with Arthur.

_She knows._

xXx

"King Rodor, Princess Mithian, allow me to welcome you to Camelot," Sir Leon greets the party from Nemeth in the courtyard, bowing respectfully to them. "The king and queen apologize for not greeting you personally. King Arthur is very busy with Lord Merlin, going over the latest reports from the Druids, and Queen Guinevere is overseeing preparations for the feast."

"Queen Guinevere should be resting," Rodor comments, swinging down from his horse.

"Yes. Perhaps _you_ should tell her, my lord," Leon says, chuckling. "She listens to none of us." He steps over to Mithian's horse. "Princess, may I?" he asks softly.

"Of course, Sir Leon," she says, smiling down at him as he reaches up, his broad hands circling her waist and lifting her down from her saddle.

 _She remembers my name!_ Leon's heart is pounding. He returns her smile and gently sets her on her feet.

"Thank you," Mithian whispers, looking up at him, noting his kind blue eyes that crinkle in the most charming way when he smiles, his tousled auburn curls, and his slender-yet-muscular build. "I had forgotten how tall you are," she adds, still whispering as the warm scent of cinnamon wafts to her on the cold breeze. The cold breeze she doesn't really feel with his body so close.

Leon clears his throat. "I had _not_ forgotten how beautiful you are, my lady," he answers, boldly, but softly.

Mithian blushes a lovely shade of pink and takes his arm. Leon gathers his wits, motions for the pages to take Rodor and Mithian's belongings, and escorts them into the palace.

"Sir Leon, how fare your parents?" King Rodor asks. Leon's parents, Lord Edwin and Lady Amelia, are well known in the five kingdoms, so the question doesn't surprise him.

"They are quite well, thank you, my lord. They will be attending tonight's feast, and I am certain Father would very much enjoy a word or two over a goblet of wine."

"Excellent," Rodor smiles.

"Ah, Princess Mithian, this is Eleanor. She will be your maid for the duration of your visit," Leon says as the young woman meets them in the corridor outside their rooms.

"Yes, I remember her," Mithian says, smiling. "She has attended me in the past."

"Very good. King Rodor, Curtis will be attending your needs," he introduces a young manservant standing with their bags. Rodor nods at the boy. "Please do not hesitate to let me know if you require anything at all."

"Thank you, Sir Leon. Perhaps a tour of the grounds later, if the weather holds," Rodor suggests.

"Very good. I will leave you to unpack and freshen up, then."

"Thank you, Sir Leon," Mithian adds softly, squeezing his arm lightly before releasing it.

"My honor and pleasure," Leon says, bowing to both.

"Eleanor, I think I should like a bath…" Mithian's voice drifts away as she disappears into her room with her maid, leaving Leon with half-formed mental images of a bathing Mithian floating through his brain.

_This is going to be a long day._

xXx

Gwaine fidgets, waiting for Olaf and Vivian. He's perplexed, because no one would tell him anything about the pair other than obvious things like "Olaf is very protective of his daughter" and "Vivian is beautiful."

He'd been unable to find the people he knows would tell him: Leon, Gwen, and Merlin. Leon had been holed up in his room since Gwen dismissed them, and now he's with his charges. Gwen was resting when she wasn't busy checking over things in the kitchen or telling servants where to place decorations. And Merlin was helping Gwen, filling in for her while she rested and assisting her while she was up and about.

He wasn't going to even _try_ to ask Arthur.

So, he waits.

_At least Vivian is beautiful. Well, that's what they told me._

Finally, they approach. Olaf, tall and proud and stern. Vivian, a petite vision in pale flowing silks.

_Nice._

"Where is your king?" Olaf barks as soon as he notices he is being greeted by a knight. An unshaven knight with long hair falling in his face, no less.

Gwaine straightens his shoulders and puts on his best Good Boy act. "King Arthur sends his apologies, King Olaf. He's busy with…" he pauses, deciding to forego whatever it was Gwen had told him to say, "…king stuff. You understand. And Queen Guinevere is having her mid-morning rest, which, I believe, you cannot deny her."

Olaf grunts noncommittally and looks over at his daughter. Her eyes are in constant motion, darting around the courtyard, searching. "Father? Where is my love? Where is Prince Arthur?" she asks, confusion playing across her lovely face.

"He's the king now, Precious, and he's married." Olaf sighs the sentence as though it is one he has said thousands of times. He dismounts his horse.

_What the ever-loving hell is this? Vivian is in love with Arthur, and she thinks he's still the prince?_

_So,_ that's _why no one would say anything._

_Bastards._

Gwaine looks back up at Vivian. He smirks. _Well, I do love a challenge._ "My lady, if I may?" He steps over to her horse and extends his hand. Then, he flips his hair and looks into her large, blue eyes.

"It's about time," she snaps, but takes his hand and allows him to assist her.

"There, now," Gwaine murmurs, once Vivian's dainty feet are on the ground. She blinks up at him and stares a moment. He winks at her. Her eyes widen slightly and she shakes her head, trying to clear the confusion.

"Will _you_ take me to see my love?" she asks.

"Why don't I show you to your rooms first?" Gwaine suggests, tucking Vivian's hand into his elbow.

He notices Olaf watching him. His face is stony, giving nothing away.

"Very well," Vivian agrees.

Olaf blinks.

They start walking, and Olaf falls into step beside Gwaine. "That's the first time I've seen her attention shift away from Arthur," he mutters (more of a growl), just loud enough.

"How long has she been like this?" Gwaine asks, just as softly.

"Arthur! There he— oh…" Vivian interjects loudly. Another knight with blonde hair appeared at the end of the corridor. She almost pulls away from Gwaine, but he keeps his hold on her hand.

"Since we visited seven years ago. They were both like that. Arthur snapped out of it. Vivian didn't. I thought news of his marriage would take care of things. It didn't. I'm hoping _seeing_ him married with a pregnant wife might jar her out of it."

"She still thinks he's the prince…" Gwaine recalls.

"Yes."

"Is she enchanted?"

"Probably."

The gruff affirmation surprises Gwaine. He also realizes he likes Olaf, despite the man's brusque demeanor. Perhaps because of it. He's always appreciated straightforwardness. "I'll send Merlin 'round. He might be of some assistance," Gwaine says.

"Oh. The serving boy who turned out to be a big wizard. Right. Um, thank you," Olaf says.

Gwaine smiles. "Here we are," he indicates their rooms. They are as far away from the royal chambers as possible. By design.

"Oh! The serving girl I had last time was… passable. Her name was… something like Genevieve… Might I have her once again?" Vivian chirps.

 _Likely Gwen._ "Sorry, darling, that serving girl is the queen now," Gwaine says indulgently, taking her hand in his. "But Rose will make sure you want for nothing." He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles. She stares at her hand a moment. She stares up at Gwaine.

"Thank you," she squeaks, her eyes like blue and white saucers. She flounces into her room, her maid (who has clearly been briefed by Gwen on Vivian's behavior) following quickly behind. The page carrying Vivian's baggage follows last.

"Normally, I would have your head on a pike for behaving in such a manner toward my daughter," Olaf's voice behind Gwaine makes him turn. "But, since it seems to have some sort of… distracting effect on her, I'll allow it." He narrows his eyes. "She is my youngest and most precious. Be mindful."

"So, not heir to the throne, then," Gwaine answers casually. Very nearly cheekily. He meets Olaf's steely gaze with his own calm one. "Interesting."

"How did _you_ get to be a knight?" Olaf asks after several long moments.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time," Gwaine answers, grinning.

Olaf merely grunts again and heads into his room.

Gwaine can hear Vivian yelling at poor Rose from inside her rooms. His grin widens as he saunters away.

_This is going to be an entertaining day._

xXx

Sir Percival knows the story of King Godwin and Princess Elena's bizarre visit to Camelot. Uther had tried to make Arthur marry Elena. Neither Arthur nor Elena had wished to marry the other, each for their own reasons.

Arthur's ability to stand up for himself against his father, to do what he believed was the right thing instead of unquestioningly doing his father's bidding is the main reason Percival stands here today, waiting for the king and princess to arrive.

_If Arthur did whatever his father told him, neither Gwaine nor I would be Knights of Camelot. Gwen would not be our wise queen._

_Merlin would be dead._

Percival tries to imagine his life had he not met up with Lancelot. He really cannot. _I would have probably ended up a man-for-hire, or, if I were lucky, perhaps a bodyguard for some low-ranking noble._

He wonders what the princess is like. He was told she was beautiful but slightly clumsy. Merlin explained she was unknowingly possessed by a faerie, and once it was exorcised, she was much better. More graceful. The queen had confirmed this, saying she found Princess Elena to be a very gentle and plain-spoken woman. _Much like the queen herself._

Godwin and Elena enter the courtyard, snapping Percival out of his reverie. He straightens his shoulders, standing proudly, drawing himself up to his full height of just under six and a half feet tall.

He sees King Godwin cock his head quizzically, so he steps forward. "Greetings, King Godwin, Princess Elena. I am Sir Percival. King Arthur and Queen Guinevere have asked me to welcome you to Camelot as they are indisposed."

"Thank you, Sir Percival," Godwin answers, stopping his horse beside a waiting stablehand. "I trust Queen Guinevere is well?"

"Yes, my lord, the queen is well, indeed. Does not rest as much as the king would like, but she has her own mind," Percival says with a smile.

"So I have heard," Godwin smiles. "We have been remiss in that we have not visited in recent years. I am eager to meet the Peoples' Queen."

"Father, you did meet her," Princess Elena speaks, looking over at him as he allows a page to assist him from his horse. "She was the lovely maidservant who attended me when we were here before," she reminds him. "You know, when I _almost_ had to get married," she adds, laughing.

"Was she? I _think_ I remember her," Godwin says, furrowing his brow.

"My lady," Percival steps over, offering his hand. Elena turns to look at him, and startles briefly, noting that she doesn't have to look _down_ so much as _over_.

_She is lovely. Does not appear to have any airs about her at all._

"Well, I don't actually _need_ assistance…"

"Elena…"

She huffs at her father. "But, thank you, Sir Knight." She takes his hand and swings her leg over the saddle. Percival is about to lift her down when she drops gracefully to the ground.

Almost. Her foot catches in her skirt and she tumbles forward into Percival's arms.

"Oh, dear…" she stammers, cheeks pink with embarrassment. All she is aware of is this _giant_ man with arms like tree trunks and the sweetest face she's ever seen, holding her upright with the gentleness of a lamb.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Percival asks, glancing up to see that Godwin is momentarily distracted, pointing to bags for the pages to take.

"Y-yes, I'm fine. I tried to wear trousers for riding, but Father insisted on a dress, saying not wearing one would make a poor impression. Especially after what happened the last time we were here." She looks up at him. "You weren't here for that ridiculous affair, were you?" she asks. "I think I would have definitely remembered you."

Percival feels his own cheeks flush now. "No, my lady, I was not here. I was merely told about it. For what it is worth, I believe the correct decision was made that day," he says, smiling a little.

She laughs. "Yes, me, too. I mean I like Arthur and everything, but…" _I like taller men._ She stares up at Percival for a moment longer, momentarily flummoxed. "No. Didn't want to marry him."

"Elena?" Godwin asks, finally noticing them, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Forgive me, my lord, the princess took a small tumble and I was merely ensuring she was uninjured," Percival states.

"Very good," Godwin answers, looking at Elena. She nods, confirming Percival's statement.

"My lady?" Percival offers his arm.

"Afraid I'm going to trip again?" she asks, chuckling, but takes his arm nevertheless.

"Merely doing my duty," he answers. He glances down and sees a slight frown playing across her face. _I said the wrong thing._ "And the stones _are_ a trifle uneven," he mutters, just loud enough for her to hear.

She laughs. It is musical and free. He likes it.

"If there is anything you require during the day, please do let me know," Percival says, mainly to Godwin, as he escorts them to their rooms.

"I'd like to visit the marketplace," Elena says brightly.

"Daughter, must you visit _every_ marketplace in _every_ kingdom we visit?" Godwin asks.

"Father, you know it is important to me," she says. "I am very interested in how the commoners are living. It tells me more about the state of the kingdom than any meeting with any king or queen," she explains, looking up at Percival.

_She's very smart. I wonder if she is his heir? No. If Godwin was going to marry her off to Arthur, then likely not._

"Yes, but I'm not sure we'll have time," Godwin answers. "However, now that I think of it, I recall there being some fine craftsmen here in Camelot…"

"I would be happy to escort you to the marketplace this afternoon," Percival volunteers. "Lunch will be served very soon. Perhaps after we've all eaten?"

"Yes, that would be lovely," Elena agrees. "Are we the last to arrive?"

"I believe so. Kings Rodor and Olaf are already here, along with Princesses Mithian and Vivian. You'll see them, along with King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, at lunch. Here we are," Percival says, stopping outside their rooms.

"Ugh, Vivian is such a nitwit," Elena mutters. Godwin doesn't hear. Percival coughs to cover his laughter.

Elena smiles conspiratorially at Percival. He feels his cheeks warm again, and clears his throat. "Um, King Godwin, Bertram will be your manservant for the duration of your stay."

"Thank you. Lunch soon, then?"

"Within the hour. You will be sent for," Percival explains.

"Very good." Godwin disappears into his room.

"My lady, this is Elizabeth. She will take excellent care of you during your stay with us," Percival says.

"Thank you, Sir Percival," Elena says, squeezing his arm (as best she can) before releasing it. She hadn't realized she was still holding it. "Will you be dining with us at lunch?"

"I believe so," he says.

She smiles and turns to her door. Then, she stops and turns back. "Are you always so formal?"

"My lady?"

"There. Always 'my lady.' Are you _always_ so formal?" she asks again, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Um… yes, I suppose I am." He frowns slightly, not really wishing to tell her he was born a commoner and addressing his betters by title has been deeply ingrained into him. "It's a bit complicated, I'm afraid."

"I look forward to hearing about it," she says, a challenging smile on her face.

"My lady?" he repeats, for he doesn't know what else to say.

"Call me Elena, please," she says, smiles again, and disappears behind her door.

_This is going to be an interesting day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if the new year was celebrated in Arthurian times, and I don't much care. For the purposes of my story, they do.


	2. Chapter 2

"Princess, please take care, that is quite a large crossbow," Sir Leon cautions, watching Mithian heft the aforementioned weapon from a rack. "Oh," he exclaims softly, as she holds it to her shoulder, leveling it expertly.

"Sir Leon, you needn't worry so," she dismisses him lightly. "I am quite adept with a crossbow, isn't that right, Father?"

"I'm afraid so, Sir Leon," Rodor confirms. "She insisted on learning alongside her brothers, and my late wife only encouraged her."

"I recall the princess did quite enjoy the hunt on her first visit here," Leon says, smiling slightly, then frowning, remembering the circumstances for her first visit. _Gwen was banished. Mithian was going to marry Arthur._

_I remember being ashamed of the relief I felt when she did not marry Arthur._

"Yes, well, that was a rather… _interesting_ visit in many ways," Mithian adds, lowering the crossbow. "Though, on reflection, I do believe things worked out the way they were supposed to. Queen Guinevere is really a wonderful woman and an excellent queen, and now that I know her, I will admit I can see why Arthur was unable to let her go." She sighs, thinking of the love she sees in Arthur's eyes when he looks at Gwen. _I'm still waiting for someone to gaze upon me with such a look._

"She is one of the best things to happen to our kingdom," Leon states proudly. "We grew up together, Queen Guinevere and I, in a way," he says.

"Oh? How is that possible? Isn't she the daughter of a blacksmith?" Rodor asks, puzzled.

"Yes, well, her mother was my mother's maidservant until she took ill and died. As a child, I would often play with Gwen and her brother Elyan. Mother encouraged it. She wanted me to be considerate of commoners, and felt that if I was acquainted with, and cared for, even a few, it would help me be mindful of others once I grew up. To remember that we are all people, regardless of status."

"Did it?" Mithian asks.

Leon quirks his head at her. "What do _you_ think, my lady?"

"I think it most definitely did. You are very loyal to your queen, and your two closest friends are knights who were common-born."

_She knows all this about me?_

"Yes, well, your mother was always very forward-thinking," Rodor states. Leon can't tell if he approves or not.

"Would you pass me that bolt?" Mithian suddenly asks, changing the subject. She gives her father a sideways look, and Leon decides she is _definitely_ being tactful.

"Princess?" Leon asks.

"I want to shoot this thing. Bolt, please," she repeats, holding out her hand.

Leon takes a bolt from a quiver and passes it to her. When she takes it from him, their fingers brush. For a moment, he forgets to breathe.

She ducks her head to hide the flush that has risen in her cheeks at the feel of his sword-roughened fingers against her skin and loads the crossbow.

"You should be wearing gloves, my lady," Leon says softly, his breath and senses gradually returning to him.

"One shot will not do me any harm, Sir Leon," she answers. "But, thank you for your concern."

"Shoulders straight, Mithian, feet…"

"Father…"

"Sorry. Sometimes, I forget you are now better at this than I am," he chuckles, and Leon realizes King Rodor is proud that his daughter knows her weaponry.

Mithian levels the crossbow and aims at a target a fair distance away. Leon watches, holding his breath even as he sees her draw one in, exhale slowly, squeezing the trigger and releasing the bolt.

She remains as still as a statue, waiting as the bolt finds its mark, just slightly to the left of the bullseye.

Leon claps, smiling. "Excellent shot, my lady!" he praises, genuinely impressed. _Of course, she did hit that doe, though we never found it. Probably a good thing, too, since the doe turned out to be Gwen._ Merlin has spent hours telling them everything he's done over the years, a bit reluctantly, and they were all quite horrified to learn they had been unknowingly hunting their dear friend and future queen.

"Thank you, Sir Leon," she smiles, passing him the weapon. "Care to make a small wager?"

"Oh, I'm not sure you want to do that," he says, grinning at her, his hand running across the smooth wood, warm from her hands.

"Nervous, Sir Knight?" she teases.

"Mithian, do not tease our host," Rodor says, but deep down, he's hoping Leon accepts her challenge. And loses.

"What sort of wager?" Leon asks, reaching for another bolt.

"Victor's choice," she shrugs.

"So… if I win, I get to choose what I want, and if you win, you get to choose what you want?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nods. "Except for money. It is too ordinary a prize, and something of which neither of us need more," she says airily.

Leon locks eyes with her for just a moment, a brief, tingling moment that seems to stretch twice as long as he loses himself in her large, brown eyes.

"Indeed, my lady," he finally says. He steps over, hoists the crossbow to his shoulder, takes aim, and fires.

It is just slightly to the right of the bullseye. Slightly _more_ right than Mithian's is left. Leon lowers the crossbow, the weapon dangling from his long arms as Rodor applauds his daughter. Leon drops his head in defeat, but he is smiling.

"It seems you are the better shot, Princess," he says, lifting his head to smile at her. "Name your prize." He replaces the crossbow on its rack.

"A dance at the feast tonight," she immediately answers.

"It would be my honor," Leon agrees, bowing to her.

_I don't know that I would have been brave enough to ask her for a kiss had I won. Not with her father standing right here, anyway._

xXx

Lunch was… awkward. Vivian could not understand why she wasn't allowed to sit beside Arthur. Loudly demanded to know why "that maid" was seated at the table beside _her_ Arthur.

Guinevere took it all in stride, feeling nothing but pity for the girl. Arthur was at a bit of a loss, but thankfully, engaged in conversation with Rodor and Godwin for most of lunch.

Then, when Godwin paid Guinevere a compliment, Arthur, in response, took his wife's hand and stroked it lightly with his thumb. Vivian squeaked in wordless protest, and Gwaine stood, walking towards the vacant seat beside her while Olaf attempted to quiet his daughter.

Then, Gwen leaned back in her seat, resting her hand on her swollen belly, and Vivian noticed her pregnancy. She also noticed the ring on Gwen's finger.

"My love! What—?"

"Shh, hush now," Gwaine purred softly in Vivian's ear, taking her hand in his. "Don't let it trouble you. You are here to enjoy yourself, remember?" She slowly stilled, turning her gaze toward Gwaine.

He caught Olaf's eye, seated at Vivian's other side, and saw a glimmer of gratitude that surprised him a little. _But of course, I'm helping her, I think, so he probably_ is _grateful._

Gwaine noticed that several pairs of eyes were turned in his direction, including the round blue irises belonging to Princess Vivian, distracted once again from her obsession.

"Please, continue. Don't mind us at all," Gwaine had dismissed them, still holding Vivian's hand. He smiled inwardly when he saw the sweet smile his queen had bestowed upon him as he lifted Vivian's small hand to his lips.

Now, Gwaine is standing in the corridor outside Vivian's room, a small bunch of flowers in his hand and several questions on his mind.

 _Why, exactly, am I doing this? Do I like this girl, or is she_ just _a challenge? Am I merely doing this because I know Arthur, Gwen, and even Olaf will be grateful?_

_Since when have I been interested in gratitude?_

_Do I like Princess Vivian?_

_Yes, I do. I cannot fathom why. She's a petulant brat. But, that's hardly her fault, is it? She's enchanted. And even if she wasn't, I have a feeling Olaf indulged her every whim and kept her all but locked away in a tall tower._

_It's not entirely surprising he's allowing me to pay such close attention to his precious daughter. He wants her to snap out of whatever she's enchanted with._

_Ugh. I can't even imagine being so completely fixated on someone for seven years. Particularly someone so far away._

_Actually, I_ can _imagine being fixated on someone for seven years and even longer. It's normally called "love." Unfortunately, Vivian hasn't been given the opportunity to know what real love is._

_Do I want to be the one to show her? I know what the consequences of my actions will be. Am I prepared to accept these consequences?_

_I only met her this morning, but there's… something about her. Yes, part of it is the challenge. The chase. I'm_ good _at the chase. If there's one thing I know about myself, it's I need a woman who will keep me on my toes. I think Vivian would most certainly do that._

_Yes, she's beautiful. Yes, my thoughts have drifted to her more often than I would readily admit. Yes, I like the feel of her small, soft hand in mine, the sweet smell of her skin._

Gwaine lifts the bunch of flowers to his nose. He got them from Gwen; she has several potted plants that bear flowers for her in the winter months. He suspects Merlin has something to do with them perpetually blooming, but doesn't ask. All he knows is his queen loves flowers, so the king ensures she has flowers year-round.

_Gwen said these were sweet pea flowers, and even recalled them to be Vivian's preference when she waited on her. They smell sweet, like Vivian._

He smells them again, closing his eyes. _Yes, I remember that scent when I kissed her hand._

 _Yes. I am doing this because_ I _want to do this. She may be enchanted with magic, but I think she has enchanted me as well. No magic necessary._

He steps forward and knocks on her door.

"Who's there? Arthur?" Vivian's expectant voice sounds from within the room.

"It's Gwaine, my lady. Your knight." _What? "Your knight?" That doesn't even make sense._

The door opens a moment later, and he is greeted by a frustrated-looking Vivian. "You're not Arthur— oh…"

Gwaine steps forward just enough to prevent her from closing the door and offers the flowers, sufficiently shocking her into silence.

"For you, my lady. I believe they are favorites of yours," Gwaine says, his voice soft.

Vivian reaches for them, hesitates, then drops her hand. "I cannot accept those. Unless they are from Prince Arthur," she says, stubbornly optimistic.

"They are from me, my lady. Sweet peas for the sweet," he says, stepping forward again. Vivian steps back.

"You… you should not be in my room," she says.

"So, yell for help," he answers nonchalantly, plucking a pink flower from the small bunch and tucking it into her hair, just above her left ear.

She manages a small squeak, nothing more. Then, her hand slowly comes up and closes around the stems, her dainty fingers brushing his as she takes them.

"Thank you… Sir Gwaine," she says softly, blinking at him.

Gwaine smiles at her, thinking that perhaps, in these moments when she looks up at him in this way, she is herself. Even if fleetingly so.

"Where… did you get flowers… in the middle of winter?" she asks, her voice hesitant, as if she is struggling to form the words.

_She probably is, since they're not about Arthur._

"The queen has flowers planted in containers within the castle, and has allowed me to pick some for you," he explains, lightly touching the end of her nose with his fingertip.

"The… queen?" she asks, her face scrunching into a confused scowl.

"Yes, my sweet pea, the queen. She is kind and wise and worries about you," he continues. "She wishes you happiness… as do I."

"But… my Arthur…" she falters, the enchantment taking hold again. "My love… he was… showering affection on that _serving girl_. I know who she is. She was my maid the last time we were here, as you well know."

 _Actually, I wasn't here, but I'll play along._ "Yes, she was. Now, she is the queen. Don't be upset," he says, closing his hand softly over hers, still clutching the flowers. "It will all make sense soon enough." _I hope._

"My lady?" Rose's voice interrupts them. She sees Gwaine and immediately blushes. Most of the serving girls do, though Gwaine has not touched a single one.

"You're late," Vivian snaps immediately. "I hope you've got people coming with bath water. I should like my hair to be _dry_ before the feast tonight."

"Yes, my lady," Rose answers. Pages start filing in with a bathtub and buckets of water.

"Enjoy your bath, my lady," Gwaine says smoothly. "And be kind to your maidservant; she is only trying to please you."

"I…" Vivian starts and stops, not sure what to say anymore. Then, Gwaine leans down and kisses her forehead once, softly, sending her into complete confusion.

"Until the feast, Sweet Pea," he murmurs, turns, and heads for the door.

"Sir… Gwaine?"

Gwaine stops and looks back at her.

"Th-thank you," Vivian whispers.

"You are most welcome, my lady," he answers, winks, and leaves.

"You. Rose, is it? Here, crush some of these into my bathwater. Not _all,_ you silly… I mean, not all of them. I do want to keep some whole to enjoy. Fetch me something to put them in. Um, please." Vivian's voice, wavering between barking orders and inexplicably switching to a more polite tone, follows Gwaine out the door.

xXx

"Oh, thank you," Princess Elena says to a little girl offering a small bunch of dried herbs in the marketplace. She takes the bundle and smells it. "Chamomile," she declares with a smile. She digs a coin from a purse on her belt and presses it into the girl's palm.

"Thank you, my lady," the girl says, her eyes widening at the coin. "Oh! My lady…"

"For you and your family," Elena declares, patting the girl's cheek. She stands and loops her hand into the crook of Percival's elbow again. "Now, where can I find some nice silks? I could do with a few new frocks."

"That way, my lady," the little girl says, pointing.

"Thank you again, my dear," Elena says, smiling at her.

"Elena, what are you going to do with a bunch of chamomile?" King Godwin asks once they are out of earshot.

"Doesn't matter," she shrugs, "did you see how happy that child was?"

Godwin sighs, accustomed to, yet slightly puzzled by, his daughter's philanthropic ways.

"If I may, Lord Merlin might be able to make use of it if you are unable to do so, my lady," Percival says.

"Elena," Elena corrects him for what feels like the thousandth time.

"Sorry. Elena," he says. "Or if Merlin doesn't need it, surely Gaius would be able to use it."

"Thank you, Percival. I'm happy it can go to good use," Elena says. "Oh! These are lovely, don't you think?" she asks, running her hand over the fine silks they've just reached.

Percival knows absolutely nothing about women's fashion. He doesn't know silk from burlap, but can see that the particular length of material Princess Elena is holding up will look beautiful on her. It is a soft green, like new leaves, and as she holds it up to her face and surveys herself in the mirror, her peachy skin glows.

"Yes, my lady. It's very nice," Percival says.

"Top-quality," Godwin appraises, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. "Helena will craft you a fine gown from this silk, my dear."

Elena sees to her purchase, allowing her father to pay only when he insists.

"Where to next?" Percival asks.

"Blacksmith," Godwin says.

"Baker," Elena insists.

"How about we see the blacksmith and finish with the baker?" Percival recommends, absentmindedly placing his hand over Elena's on his elbow.

Elena looks at his hand and he remembers himself, quickly removing it. "Pardon me, my lady," he mutters, flushing pink with embarrassment.

"No harm done," Elena says softly. Godwin hadn't seen, not that he would have minded.

Princess Elena ponders Percival's bare arms as they walk. She is wrapped in a long cloak edged with fur. Godwin is wearing a thick, quilted coat and leather gloves. Percival is dressed as though it is midsummer.

Godwin enters the blacksmith's shop. Elena isn't interested, so she stays in the back of the shop with Percival, waiting while her father peruses the smith's wares.

"Why do you not have sleeves?" she asks suddenly, unconsciously flexing her fingers into the surprisingly warm skin of his arm. "Are you not cold?" _Not that I object to seeing them, mind…_

"Um, they are always too tight," Percival explains quietly, a little embarrassed. "I know the tailors here in Camelot could craft me a shirt to my measurements, but I've grown so accustomed to not wearing them that now, they bother me if I do. And no, I do not get cold. In fact, I rather like this time of year because I am not sweltering." He pauses a moment, unsure if he should mention it. _You are not ashamed of who you are, Percival. You like this woman, but if she cannot accept you for who you are, then you have your answer before you've let yourself become completely smitten._ "I was born a commoner, my lady."

"Ah, you are one of the 'commoner knights' of which I've heard," Elena says. There is no judgment or disdain in her voice. She is merely stating a fact. "So, you likely never had the luxury of a tailor."

"Yes, my lady. Elena," he corrects himself. "I am sorry if that disappoints you."

She looks up at him, her expression indicating she suspects he's gone quite insane. "Why on earth would that disappoint me?"

 _Oh. She's not interested._ "Um…"

"Percival, Arthur and I may not have been suited for marriage, but he and I are more alike than you may realize. I don't care about the circumstances of your birth or who you used to be." She smiles up at him. "I care about who you are _now._ And I think it's bloody impressive that you've proven yourself worthy of becoming a Knight of Camelot, even though your being one went against Uther's rules."

"Thank you," he says softly. _Wait, did a princess just say "bloody"?_

"Uther's ideas were antiquated and narrow-minded," she mutters, frowning. Her face softens again as she looks up at this gentle giant whose arm she just cannot seem to release. "I like you, Sir Percival. I am not disappointed in your company or _you_ in any way."

 _Now completely smitten._ "I like you, too, Princess," he answers, almost whispering.

"Elena, what do you think of this?" Godwin steps over, interrupting them, oblivious of Percival's pink ears and Elena's slightly dilated pupils.

"It's a dagger," she declares.

"It's for you. If you insist upon galavanting around Gawant without a guard, I would like for you to have _some_ protection."

"My lady, you really shouldn't…" Percival starts, but stops when he realizes that it's not his place to comment.

Elena sighs and removes her hand from Percival's arm to take the dagger from her father. "It's nice. A little heavy," she declares, hefting it in her hand.

"My lord, if I may?" Percival says, holding his hand out.

"Of course," Godwin says.

"Yes, this is too heavy," Percival declares. He walks over to the smith, has a brief discussion, and returns with a dagger that is not only lighter, but more decorative. Something a princess would not mind carrying. "Try this one, my lady," he offers her the dagger, handle-first.

"Goodness, it looks like a butter knife in your hands," she laughs, taking the dagger. "This feels better," she says. "Of course, I have no idea what I'm talking about," she laughs again.

"Perhaps Sir Percival can show you how to use it?" Godwin suggests.

Percival and Elena exchange a surprised look. _Is he playing matchmaker?_ they both seem to think.

"I would be honored. If my lady agrees," Percival answers.

"On one condition," Elena says, smirking.

"Yes?"

"You stop calling me 'my lady' and start calling me 'Elena' like I have asked?" She grins broadly at him, and he cannot help but return her impish grin.

xXx

"Guinevere, you should be resting." Several heads turn, and King Arthur finds himself the target of numerous pairs of surprised eyes accompanied by hasty bows and curtseys.

King Arthur does not often visit the kitchens.

"Arthur, I am quite well. Really," Gwen protests as he makes his way towards her.

"It's nearly four, darling. You should have been in our chambers an hour ago," he says sternly.

She sighs and acquiesces, knowing his concern for her is borne from the deeper issue of his fear over her entire pregnancy, particularly the upcoming childbirth. Gaius has repeatedly reassured Arthur that Gwen will not suffer the same fate as his mother, but fears this deep are difficult to shake.

Arthur now knows the truth about his conception and birth. Gaius told him shortly after they learned Gwen was with child. But, it did not change the fact his greatest fear is Gwen dying in childbirth, leaving him without her. In truth, his recurring nightmares are a testament to this fear. He remembers the soul-searing pain, horror, and emptiness he experienced during the months they were separated before their wedding. Arthur never wants to live through such an experience again. Ever.

So, her loving husband leads her from the kitchens, even as she continues calling instructions over her shoulder. He escorts her to their rooms. He bends down and gently removes her slippers from her (admittedly slightly swollen) feet and guides her to the bed.

She expects him to tuck her in and head back out to the training field or council chambers. Or perhaps sit at the desk here in their quarters, quietly going over parchments. This time, however, he shucks his boots and vest and joins her, spooning behind her, his long arm circling her stomach.

"You have no engagements, my lord?" Guinevere asks sleepily. _I guess I_ am _tired._

"Only this one," he murmurs, burrowing his face into her curls to kiss her neck. "Are you comfortable?"

"Mm-hmm. The pillow helps," she says, eyes closed now, patting the pillow she has wedged under her belly.

"Good." He cuddles against her, marveling once again at how their bodies fit so perfectly together.

When Guinevere wakes, it is to the delicious sensation of her husband's lips on her neck. He's diligently placing soft, wet kisses on her skin, drawing her from slumber into wakefulness.

"Arthur," she says, trying to sound reproachful, but his name comes out more like a moan.

"Mmm," he responds, lifting up to kiss a trail to her collarbone. She turns, lying on her back to accommodate him. He raises up further, now capturing her lips in a deep kiss.

"We have to get ready for the feast," she protests weakly, pulling her lips from his. Undeterred, he simply moves his lips back to her neck, working his way down to her collarbone once again, but this time not stopping there, moving down to the tops of her breasts.

"Your plan seems to be working," Arthur mutters against her skin, his sneaky fingers working their way beneath her to pull at the few laces holding her dress together. Gwen abandoned corseted dresses months ago, choosing instead to wear flowing, empire-waisted gowns that accommodate her condition.

"Hmm?" she wonders hazily, her sleepy brain distracted by other things.

"I saw Percival and Elena returning to the palace a short time ago," he reports, sliding her dress from her shoulders. "They appeared quite…" he pauses, kissing the newly-exposed skin of her stomach as he ponders the correct adjective, "…cozy. Perhaps smitten."

"Mmm," Gwen smiles, lifting her hips to allow Arthur to completely remove her gown. She opens her eyes to discover Arthur is already naked. "Arthur, did you…?"

"Of course I did. I'm terribly optimistic, you see," he says, grinning stupidly before dropping his head for a kiss. "Oh, and Merlin tells me Leon and Mithian have been doing little other than making eyes at each other all afternoon. And something about a wager Leon lost… apparently he has to dance with her at the feast." He kisses her shoulder.

"Oh, what a hardship for him," Gwen giggles. "How did Vivian receive the flowers Gwaine brought her?"

Arthur frowns momentarily. "She _did_ accept them. And, from what I understand, she was struggling to be kinder to her maidservant after he left." He kisses Gwen again, longer, his hand softly stroking her breast. "He might be making progress with her. Poor chap has his work cut out for him, though."

"I have confidence in him," she says, her own hands wandering a little as well. "It's time he settled down, anyway."

"Indeed, my lady. And far be it for any of us to disagree with our queen," Arthur says with a smirk, kissing down to her breasts again.

"Exactly. Mmm," she moans as Arthur's lips close over a sensitive nipple.

"I never should have doubted the wisdom of your plan," he adds, moving across to attend her other breast.

"No more talking, Husband," Gwen whispers, delving her fingers into his hair.


	3. Chapter 3

The feast is lavish and festive. Spirits are high. Arthur and Gwen preside over everything from the head table, Arthur in fabric instead of metal (as requested by his wife), Gwen in a beautiful velvet aubergine gown accented with silver thread. Occasionally, a hand softly touches a hand. Occasionally, sweet words are spoken into an ear. Occasionally, a tender kiss is dropped upon a cheek.

But mostly, they watch. They eagerly but surreptitiously watch Queen Guinevere's crafty little matchmaking plan come to fruition in front of them, almost as if they are watching a dramatic performance.

The hour grows late, and King Rodor is locked in an animated conversation with Lord Edwin, laughing and reminiscing over only the gods know what. Godwin is attempting to engage Olaf in pleasant conversation, but Olaf's attentions are divided, as he always has one eye on Vivian, making sure she does not stray too close to Arthur and Guinevere. He can deal with his enchanted daughter so long as she does not make a scene.

Olaf finds he is actually thankful for the mouthy knight who seems to be trying very hard to woo his daughter. _The man is obviously a libertine, but Arthur assures me he is a fine and loyal knight. And I've never seen anyone able to break through Vivian's enchantment the way he does._ As he realizes this, he sees Sir Gwaine approaching, flipping that damnable hair and smirking, his shirt open, revealing far too much of his chest.

"Princess, the minstrels have begun. Would you favor me with a dance?" Gwaine asks, offering his hand to Princess Vivian, radiant in a pale blue dress that matches her eyes.

"I was hoping—"

"I don't believe Arthur will be dancing much at all this evening, my lady," he says, now reaching for her hand, having learned that physical contact is key to penetrating the layer of magic surrounding her. He lifts her hand and kisses the inside of her wrist, over her pulse point. "Please."

She blinks at him a few times. "Very well," she whispers, standing.

They reach the dance floor, where Leon is already twirling Mithian, her burgundy skirts flaring out around her as she spins.

"You dance very well, Sir Leon," Mithian says, slightly breathless as she returns to his arms. They feel so _right_ around her.

"Thank you. I had to learn, of course," he says, smiling down at her.

"Of course." She returns his smile, and their eyes lock for a moment. Again.

"Um… you dance very well, too, Princess," Leon finally says.

"I, too, had to learn," she returns, giggling.

"Indeed."

They step and turn and part and return. Each time they come together, it seems he holds her a little closer.

"Sir Leon, may I ask a question?" Mithian asks after a minute.

"Of course. You may ask me anything at all," he answers.

"If you had won our wager, what would you have requested of me?"

 _Ask me anything but that._ "Oh. I… I do not know, my lady," he says, eyes forward, looking over the top of her head.

"You're a terrible liar; you _do_ know," she presses, tapping his chest, making him look down at her. "I will fetch a step stool to make you look me in the eye," she threatens lightly, smiling.

Leon closes his eyes for a moment. "The only thing I could think to request was something I have no business asking," he sighs.

"Ooo, intriguing," she says, curious where she should have been offended. "Do tell."

"Do not think less of me?"

"You need not fear such a thing," she dismisses him.

"I would have asked that you grant me a kiss," he admits.

She says nothing for a moment, and Leon thinks his heart stops. The song ends and another begins. Hands still joined, they swiftly exit the floor, noting with some curiosity that Vivian and Gwaine are still dancing. Elena is also dragging Percival to the dance floor.

"Is that all?" Mithian asks, sitting. She pats the place beside her, Rodor's seat, long vacated.

Leon sits. "You are not offended, my lady?"

"Not at all," she says. She bites her lower lip. "I would have gladly granted your request," she says softly.

Leon _knows_ his heart has stopped. "You would have?"

"Yes. You are a good man, Sir Leon. I know you do not mean to compromise my virtue. A simple kiss is a small matter," she says, waving her hand airily.

"Oh," Leon says, a little too dejectedly. Now his heart has sunk. _She thinks it nothing more than a lady granting a favor on a knight in a tournament._

"Oh… um… I did not mean… oh dear…" Mithian frets now. "Leon, I…"

"Princess, I have admired you for some time. Since you first arrived in Camelot to marry my king, in fact. Your beauty struck my heart immediately, and I chastised myself for my wayward thoughts. I felt terribly guilty about being happy that you did not marry Arthur when you were clearly unhappy. Then you returned, still unmarried, and I… but the whole thing with Morgana was such a mess… and then you were gone again… I know I am only a knight and not worthy of your affection, but… it's killing me to keep my feelings inside any longer." Leon's confession falls from his lips like a rockslide, tumbling forth, unable to be stopped.

"Leon," Mithian says, placing her hand over his, "thank you for your honesty. I…" she pauses, not sure what to say. His words surprised her as they washed over her, yet… somehow, they didn't. They erased all thought from her head until she found herself staring at his sweet face with its piercing blue eyes (beneath those damnable tousled curls) and his soft-looking pink lips. Her eyes drop unbidden to those lips, and without thinking, she leans forward to press her own to them. He stiffens for the briefest moment, then relaxes, returning her kiss, his hand coming up to caress her cheek.

xXx

"Arthur!" Gwen whispers, actually punching her husband's shoulder, pointing frantically but surreptitiously.

"Well, well," Arthur smirks. "One down."

"Eh, that was the easy one. Leon's been pining for her all these years," Gwen says casually, but she is grinning widely.

"He has? How did I not know this?" Arthur asks.

"Because you're a man," Gwen says.

"Hang on!"

" _And_ you're the king and have more important matters on which to concentrate," she adds, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"Nice work, my lady," Merlin is suddenly behind them, leaning down to whisper to her. "Though that would have happened without your help."

Arthur huffs, disgruntled. "Even _Merlin_ knew," he laments.

"Wizard," he says, hoping that will suffice. He really doesn't feel like pointing out Arthur's famous obliviousness yet _again_. "I know lots of things."

"Do you know if we're having a boy or a girl?" Arthur asks. He's been dying to know.

"Yes, I do," Merlin says. Then, he walks away.

"Merlin!"

Gwen laughs, then returns her attention to Leon and Mithian.

xXx

"Princess?" Leon asks, not believing what had just happened. _She kissed me! She likes me, too!_

"Mithian," she corrects softly, her hand caressing his cheek. "Since we are confessing, I will tell you I most certainly noticed you when Father and I came here for aid. So loyal, so trustworthy, so handsome. Everything a knight should be." She pauses, smiling a little. "But, you are right, it was such a mess, and I was so… embarrassed by the whole affair…" Her smile drops from her face.

"Don't be, please," he interrupts, taking both of her hands in his. "It was not your fault. The blame lies squarely with Morgana. You were incredibly brave, Mithian. You must have been so frightened."

"Thank you. I was," she says, looking down at their joined hands. His thumbs caressing her knuckles are causing strange flip-flop sensations in her stomach. She looks up at him and continues. "But, I very much wished our visit had been under happier circumstances so I could have become better acquainted with you. Luckily, we were given an opportunity this time. You do not know how happy I was to see you greeting us."

"You can thank Queen Guinevere for that," he says. _I wonder if she knew. I'd wager she did._ He peeks over at Gwen, and she smiles at him, as if granting her approval.

"I will most definitely do that," Mithian says, smiling shyly at him. He returns her smile, and she sees it: the look she's been longing to receive. The love shining from Leon's eyes into hers makes her gasp.

Loud laughter reaches their ears, popping the bubble of intimacy surrounding them, and they look over to see Princess Elena laughing uproariously at something Percival has said, standing in the middle of the dance floor. She takes his hand and leads him from the floor as the song ends.

Vivian is still dancing with Gwaine, appearing to be under a completely different kind of spell.

"That's almost creepy," Leon mutters, nodding at them.

"What is wrong with that poor girl?" Mithian asks. "I've heard rumors, but…"

"It's terrible, really," Leon begins, reaching for Rodor's abandoned goblet and taking a drink. He scoots closer to Mithian and lifts her hand, kissing it once before beginning. "It was several years ago…"

xXx

"I had no idea Percival was funny," Arthur mutters. "He's usually so quiet."

"He has a certain dry wit about him," Gwen says. "Elena is very down-to-earth, so she probably appreciates that. Poor girl spent most of her life possessed, you know. She deserves some happiness."

"Absolutely. Which is why I'm glad we didn't wind up married. We'd've both wound up miserable."

"You would have been fine," she reassures him.

"I would not have and you know it. I would have been miserable. You would have most certainly wound up being her maidservant, and it would have been more than I could have borne." Arthur knows this as sure as he knows his name. His forbidden love for Guinevere would have eaten away at him every second, even though he would have honored his marriage vows to the letter. It would have been unspeakably dishonorable to Arthur to be unfaithful to his wife. He knows he wouldn't have — couldn't have — taken Guinevere as a mistress. His love for her was too strong. He never would have been able to settle for such an arrangement. And Guinevere deserved much better than that.

"Well, it didn't happen, so there's no sense in dwelling on it," Guinevere says, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He turns his head at the last second and catches her lips with his.

"Thank goodness," he sighs. He leans back in his chair and looks around the room. "Gods, this place looks like a gathering of Women Arthur Pendragon Almost Married."

Gwen laughs while Arthur sighs. "To be accurate, you didn't almost marry Vivian."

"True."

"Olaf would have killed you before that would have happened."

Arthur snorts.

"And… who was that Druid…? Sophia. She's not here."

"Thankfully. You know, I'm a little surprised you're not jealous or unhappy about this. You're more comfortable here than I am."

"That's because I know where your heart lies, my love. I always have, even during that time we never speak about," she smiles at him.

"I know," he sighs, kissing her hand, pushing aside the familiar pang of guilt that only grew sharper once he learned Guinevere was innocent of any betrayal. _It's over. We've forgiven each other a thousand times._ "How much longer until midnight?"

"Not too much," she says. Elena's laugher reaches their ears again.

"What the hell is so funny?" Arthur asks.

xXx

"He did _what?_ " Elena asks, leaning forward, hanging on Percival's every softly-spoken word. She shifts in her seat, scooting slightly closer, adjusting her peachy-pink skirts around her.

"He dropped the coins, made a _very_ un-manly squeak, soiled his trousers, and bolted for the door, where, unbeknownst to him, Sir Elyan was waiting. Naturally, he was quite surprised. And luckily for Elyan, the man had _already_ emptied his bladder," Percival repeats, adding more details this time.

"Ha, some bandit, wetting himself when caught," she laughs. "Which one is Sir Elyan?" she asks, looking around the room.

"Was," Percival corrects softly, turning somber. "He died at Morgana's hand a year ago. He was Queen Guinevere's brother, and he died valiantly, trying to save his sister from the witch's clutches."

"Oh, dear," Elena asks. "Do I want to know?"

"You do not. Not tonight, in any case. It is a very long and truly awful story, not fit for a night of festivity. He was a brother to us all and is greatly missed. That is all you need to know right now," he says, smiling sadly.

"I understand," she says. "I can see it is still painful for you. He was another commoner knight, yes?"

Percival nods. "Elyan, Lancelot, Gwaine, and myself were all knighted together. We called ourselves The Four. Gwaine and I are all that remain of us. And Gwaine, the idiot… he's really a noble." He shakes his head and looks at the ceiling, remembering Gwaine's drunken confession three months ago.

" _He's_ a noble?" Elena asks, indicating the roguish knight still spinning Vivian around the dance floor.

"I know. Apparently, he hates his family. Renounced his title and took off. Says he'd never be a knight for anyone except Arthur. Honestly, I don't blame him. The first time I met the king, I addressed him as 'Your Highness,' and he immediately corrected me, telling me to call him 'Arthur.' From the very first moment, I knew he was different, and that hasn't changed."

"He is a good man. Very open-minded. Other kings should follow his example," she says pointedly.

"Oh?" Percival asks, smirking.

"Yes, I _do_ mean my father. He's not as narrow-minded as Uther was, but… he has his moments."

"And what of your brother?"

"My brother is coming around. He should come here for a visit, really. I should put a bug in my father's ear about that, come to think of it…" she drifts off. "Yes. And perhaps, if he does, I could accompany him," she adds, smiling slyly at him.

Percival beams, knowing she means she'll come back so she can see him. Hoping so, anyway. "I would like that very much," he says, shyly reaching for her hand. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" he asks softly.

"Twice," she answers, blushing. "But, you can tell me again."

He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles. "You look _very_ beautiful this evening, Elena."

xXx

"Guinevere…" Arthur plucks at her sleeve. "I think Percival's going to go for it."

"Excellent," she says, turning her gaze in their direction, leaning her head on his shoulder.

xXx

"Thank you," Elena says, beaming. "Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?"

"No, you haven't," he answers, trying not to grin and failing.

"You look _very_ handsome, Sir Knight. Even without sleeves."

Percival smiles and turns her hand to kiss her palm. "Elena, may I kiss you?" he asks softly.

"Please," Elena answers, as though she's been waiting for him to do it all night. Because she has.

He leans down, tilting her chin up with one finger, and kisses her tenderly, lingering over the sweetness of her lips.

She squeezes his hand, his surprisingly soft lips making her feel all weak and fluttery inside.

"Goodness," she breathes when they separate.

"Yeah," he agrees, reaching up to tuck an errant lock of golden hair behind her ear. He twines his long, thick fingers through her slender ones, smiling at her. "Elena, I…" he starts and stops, unsure of his words.

"Me, too," she agrees, smiling sweetly at him.

"Arthur! My love, why are you kissing that serving girl?" Vivian's shrill cry interrupts them. Interrupts everyone. Even the musicians.

xXx

Gwaine, having lost track of himself, spun Vivian away and she found herself staring at Arthur and Guinevere, just as Arthur leaned over and kissed Gwen's bare shoulder.

"Sorry," Gwaine apologizes, gathering Vivian back to himself, gently shushing her. He looks up and grins sheepishly. "Forgot. Carry on," he announces, waving his hand. The music starts again.

"But…" Vivian protests, confused and upset. "She's a _maid!_ "

"Shh, darling, it's all right," Gwaine says, holding her in his arms on the dance floor, though they are no longer dancing. He traces her cheek with his finger, his eyes boring into hers. "Everything is how it should be," he whispers. "Almost."

"My lords and ladies, the new year is nearly upon us," Merlin, the official timekeeper, announces.

A moment later, the bell starts chiming, and there is cheering. Arthur stands and holds his hand for Guinevere, who takes it and stands as well.

The moment the bell stops chiming, Arthur sweeps Guinevere into his arms and kisses her, his strong arms supporting her as he leans her back, her arms circling his shoulders, holding on.

"Happy New Year, my sweet," he whispers, his eyes shining.

"Happy New Year, my love," Guinevere answers, pecking his lips as he sets her upright again. He sits and leans forward, kissing her belly before she sits again.

Now that the king and queen have officially welcomed the New Year with the ceremonial kiss (though most ceremonial kisses are nothing like _that_ one), others follow suit. Lord Edwin places a sweet, chaste kiss on Lady Amelia's waiting lips. In the corner they spy a servant drop a kiss on a very surprised maid, who dissolves into giggles.

Leon has boldly pulled Mithian onto his lap and his hand is caressing her cheek and neck as they lose themselves in each other. Mithian's fingers, indulging in a small fantasy, are threaded into Leon's curls.

Percival's arms are around Elena as he descends upon her very willing lips once again, having grown brave enough to touch more than her hands. His fingers splay on her back as her hands rest on his chest, fingers gradually tightening, clutching his shirt.

Gwaine is staring intently at Vivian, still trapped in his arms, wide-eyed and confused. Hating himself just a little because he can't help feeling he's taking advantage of her unfortunate situation, he leans down and kisses her as softly as he can, his lips caressing hers languidly but skillfully for just a few seconds.

Then, Vivian pushes him roughly, tearing away from his embrace. Her face is red, she's breathing heavily, and she looks ready to commit murder.

She slaps him. Hard.

Guinevere gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. Arthur's hand covers his mouth, not in surprise, but to hide his laughter at Gwaine.

Gwaine, true to form, merely raises an eyebrow at Vivian, saying nothing. Waiting.

Then, she leaps, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him with everything she has. His arms automatically circle her slender body, one creeping up under her hair to support her head as his tongue slides forward, coaxing her lips open for him.

Neither of them care that Olaf is staring, wide-eyed, a torrent of emotions running through him. Relief, anger, and joy are all doing battle. Then, he realizes the anger is just a reflex, and he's mostly relieved that his daughter seems to be free after seven very long years.

 _But, this means I'll likely wind up with that insane knight as a son-in-law,_ he notes, remembering his conversation with Merlin earlier today about what exactly it would take to break his daughter's enchantment.

When Gwaine and Vivian part, every eye is on them.

"Thank you," Vivian says, breathing heavily. "Thank you."

"Oh, my. I don't think I've ever heard her say 'Thank you' before," Gwen whispers to Arthur.

"You are very welcome, my love," Gwaine answers, kissing her forehead. "Feel better now?"

"Yes," she nods. Then, her face crumples. "Who are you?"


	4. Chapter 4

Six Months later

"They're all getting married, and they're all staying here," Arthur declares, striding into the nursery, where Guinevere is feeding their daughter.

"Really? That's… somewhat surprising. I would have thought at least _one_ pair would leave," Gwen says, lifting her cheek for Arthur to kiss. He bends lower and kisses their three-month-old daughter's velvety forehead, pausing to linger over her scent as well.

"Eat up, my princess," he whispers, nuzzling her dark curls with his nose. Then, he stands again. "Yes, they all wish to stay in Camelot. I think it's a good thing. You do not have enough ladies-in-waiting to assist you, anyway."

"Arthur…" she sighs, her stubborn independent streak rearing its head again.

"No, you need assistants. Particularly now, with your insistence that you nurse Wynnfrith yourself," he reminds her.

Merlin suggested the name, because it means "joy and peace."

"And _you_ agreed," she reminds him.

"I know. It was important to you. Just as this is important to me. You push yourself too hard, my love. I know you are accustomed to taking care of yourself, and I've been turning a blind eye, but now…"

"Yes, Arthur, you are right, my love. I do need help. However, I honestly think Elena would be better suited to being your advisor than my lady-in-waiting. I'll have more than enough help with Mithian and Vivian." She pauses a moment, shifting Wynnfrith to her other breast. "It's Vivian who surprises me the most. I would have thought Olaf would want to keep her close."

Arthur laughs. "Gwaine told me when he visited them in April, Olaf pulled him aside and said something akin to, 'She's _your_ problem now, Son.' I think he's had his fill of his daughter for a while."

Guinevere laughs, and the princess fusses for a moment as a result. "Shh…" she soothes. Once the baby is settled back in, Guinevere looks up. "He called him 'Son'? Goodness."

"They've reached some sort of bizarre understanding I don't quite understand. Oh, and I _am_ taking Vivian's behavior as a cautionary tale on how not to treat our daughter. My little flower there will not be an over-indulged, petulant brat, I promise you."

"Vivian's gotten a lot better since she's been with Gwaine. When she gets out of hand, he basically ignores her, and she can't abide that. So, she reins herself in because, otherwise, she'll lose him. And she knows it. It's really something to see." Then, she raises an eyebrow at Arthur. "And do you truly think I would let you raise our daughter that way?"

He laughs. "No, I know you wouldn't. Oh, Elena wanted me to relay her farewell to you. She and her brother left a short time ago. After a long goodbye to Percival, of course. She also asked me to pass along that Prince Alistair was very impressed by you."

"Why would her brother find me impressive?" Gwen wonders. "He's the crowned prince of Gawant. He should be paying attention to _you,_ not me."

He shrugs. "But, you _are_ impressive, my love. You are wonderful and wise and not afraid to speak your mind when the occasion calls for it."

"A trait that has gotten me into trouble more than once," she reminds him. "Mostly with you," she adds with a smile.

"Ah, that was a lifetime ago. And you forget it was also the trait that made me stand up and take notice of you."

"As I said: it's gotten me into trouble," she teases.

Arthur chuckles and sits beside her, nuzzling his way to her neck to place a soft kiss there. "You, my love, _are_ wonderful. I never should have doubted your plan."

"Of course you shouldn't have. It was a good plan. And now, your three closest knights are all very happy men."

"If each of them are half as happy with his soon-to-be wife as I am with you, then they are fortunate, indeed," he sighs, kissing her neck again.

"Indeed," Guinevere agrees, smiling and turning to kiss her husband.


End file.
